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╬╬╬╬╬╬╬╬╬╬╬╬╬╬╬版 权 归 原 作 者
【冷泉泓薇】整理
附：【】内容版权归作者所有！
故事背景，设定在虚拟的近未来时空。作者以简略笔法，从主角口中片断交代这样的场景：战乱后荒芜的北美洲，重回古希腊城邦式的统治形态。极少数的统治贵族，住在固若金汤的特定区域，掌管绝大多数从事生产奉献的民奴。－－既是民奴，命如蝼蚁，死不足惜。每年选取各地区十二岁到十八岁的青少年，放在设计好的环境，命令自相残杀。再以监视镜头，在家中观赏近距离、多角度的真实杀戮。藉这种年度活动，展现贵族至高无上的统治权，使奴民知所畏惧，不敢叛变且维持供养。
这本书，以主角凯妮丝眼光，绝对第一人称「我」的视野来写。故事开始，将读者丢到年度抽签日。凯妮丝是十六岁少女，妹妹刚满十二岁，都具备应选资格，有可能成为生死格斗游戏、举世目光下被贵族玩耍到死的其中一员。先让读者知道这关键，再慢慢插叙，填补必要的背景设定。
PART I
〃THE TRIBUTES〃
1
When I wake up； the other side of the bed is cold。 My fingers stretch out； seeking Primˇs warmth but finding only the rough canvas cover of the mattress。 She must have had bad dreams and climbed in with our mother。 Of course； she did。 This is the day of the reaping。
I prop myself up on one elbow。 Thereˇs enough light in the bedroom to see them。 My little sister； Prim； curled up on her side； cocooned in my motherˇs body； their cheeks pressed together。 In sleep； my mother looks younger； still worn but not so beaten…down。 Primˇs face is as fresh as a raindrop； as lovely as the primrose for which she was named。 My mother was very beautiful once； too。 Or so they tell me。
Sitting at Primˇs knees； guarding her； is the worldˇs ugliest cat。 Mashed…in nose； half of one ear missing； eyes the color of rotting squash。 Prim named him Buttercup； insisting that his muddy yellow coat matched the bright flower。 I le hates me。 Or at least distrusts me。 Even though it was years ago； I think he still remembers how I tried to drown him in a bucket when Prim brought him home。 Scrawny kitten； belly swollen with worms； crawling with fleas。 The last thing I needed was another mouth to feed。 But Prim begged so hard； cried even； I had to let him stay。 It turned out okay。 My mother got rid of the vermin and heˇs a born mouser。 Even catches the occasional rat。 Sometimes； when I clean a kill； I feed Buttercup the entrails。 He has stopped hissing at me。
Entrails。 No hissing。 This is the closest we will ever e to love。
I swing my legs off the bed and slide into my hunting boots。 Supple leather that has molded to my feet。 I pull on trousers； a shirt； tuck my long dark braid up into a cap； and grab my forage
bag。 On the table； under a wooden bowl to protect it from hungry rats and cats alike； sits a perfect little goat cheese wrapped in basil leaves。 Primˇs gift to me on reaping day。 I put the cheese carefully in my pocket as I slip outside。
Our part of District 12； nicknamed the Seam； is usually crawling with coal miners heading out to the morning shift at this hour。 Men and women with hunched shoulders； swollen knuckles； many who have long since stopped trying to scrub the coal dust out of their broken nails； the lines of their sunken faces。 But today the black cinder streets are empty。 Shutters on the squat gray houses are closed。 The reaping isnˇt until
two。 May as well sleep in。 If you can。
Our house is almost at the edge of the Seam。 I only have to pass a few gates to reach the scruffy field called the Meadow。 Separating the Meadow from the woods； in fact enclosing all of District 12； is a high chain…link fence topped with barbedwire loops。 In theory； itˇs supposed to be electrified twentyfour hours a day as a deterrent to the predators that live in the woods packs of wild dogs； lone cougars； bears that used to threaten our streets。 But since weˇre lucky to get two or three hours of electricity in the evenings； itˇs usually safe to touch。 Even so； I always take a moment to listen carefully for the hum that means the fence is live。 Right now； itˇs silent as a stone。 Concealed by a clump of bushes； I flatten out on my belly and slide under a two…foot stretch thatˇs been loose for years。 There are several other weak spots in the fence； but this one is so close to home I almost always enter the woods here。 As soon as Iˇm in the trees； I retrieve a bow and sheath of arrows from a hollow log。 Electrified or not； the fence has been successful at keeping the flesh…eaters out of District 12。 Inside the woods they roam freely； and there are added concerns like venomous snakes； rabid animals； and no real paths to follow。 But thereˇs also food if you know how to find it。 My father knew and he taught me some before he was blown to bits in a mine explosion。 There was nothing even to bury。 I was eleven then。 Five years later； I still wake up screaming for him to run。
Even though trespassing in the woods is illegal and poaching carries the severest of penalties； more people would risk it if they had weapons。 But most are not bold enough to venture out with just a knife。 My bow is a rarity； crafted by my father along with a few others that I keep well hidden in the woods； carefully wrapped in waterproof covers。 My father could have made good money selling them； but if the officials found out he would have been publicly executed for inciting a rebellion。
Most of the Peacekeepers turn a blind eye to the few of us who hunt because theyˇre as hungry for fresh meat as anybody is。 In fact； theyˇre among our best customers。 But the idea that someone might be arming the Seam would never have been allowed。
In the fall； a few brave souls sneak into the woods to harvest apples。 But always in sight of the Meadow。 Always close enough to run back to the safety of District 12 if trouble arises。 ¨District Twelve。 Where you can starve to death in safety；〃 I mutter。 Then I glance quickly over my shoulder。 Even here； even in the middle of nowhere； you worry someone might overhear you。
When I was younger； I scared my mother to death； the things I would blurt out about District 12； about the people who rule our country； Panem； from the far…off city called the Capitol。 Eventually I understood this would only lead us to more trouble。 So I learned to hold my tongue and to turn my features into an indifferent mask so that no one could ever read my thoughts。 Do my ake only polite small talk in the public market。 Discuss little more than trades in the Hob； which is the black market where I make most of my money。 Even at home； where I am less pleasant； I avoid discussing tricky topics。 Like the reaping； or food shortages； or the Hunger Games。 Prim might begin to repeat my words and then where would we be？
In the woods waits the only person with whom I can be myself。 Gale。 I can feel the muscles in my face relaxing； my pace quickening as I climb the hills to our place； a rock ledge overlooking a valley。 A thicket of berry bushes protects it from unwanted eyes。 The sight of him waiting there brings on a smile。 Gale says I never smile except in the woods。
¨Hey； Catnip；〃 says Gale。 My real name is Katniss； but when I first told him； I had barely whispered it。 So he thought Iˇd said Catnip。 Then when this crazy lynx started following me around the woods looking for handouts； it became his official nickname for me。 I finally had to kill the lynx because he scared off game。 I almost regretted it because he wasnˇt bad pany。 But I got a decent price for his pelt。
¨Look what I shot；〃 Gale holds up a loaf of bread with an arrow stuck in it； and I laugh。 Itˇs real bakery bread； not the flat； dense loaves we make from our grain rations。 I take it in my hands； pull out the arrow； and hold the puncture in the crust to my nose； inhaling the fragrance that makes my mouth flood with saliva。 Fine bread like this is for special occasions。
¨Mm； still warm；〃 I say。 He must have been at the bakery at the crack of dawn to trade for it。 ¨What did it cost you？〃
¨Just a squirrel。 Think the old man was feeling sentimental this morning；〃 says Gale。 ¨Even wished me luck。〃
¨Well； we all feel a little closer today； donˇt we？〃 I say； not even bothering to roll my eyes。 ¨Prim left us a cheese。〃 I pull it out。
His expression brightens at the treat。 ¨Thank you； Prim。 Weˇll have a real feast。〃 Suddenly he falls into a Capitol accent as he mimics Effie Trinket； the maniacally upbeat woman who arrives once a year to read out the names at the leaping。 ¨I almost forgot！ Happy Hunger Games！〃 He plucks a few blackberries from the bushes around us。 ¨And may the odds 〃 He tosses a berry in a high arc toward me。
I catch it in my mouth and break the delicate skin with my teeth。 The sweet tartness explodes across my tongue。 ¨ be ever in your favor！〃 I finish with equal verve。 We have to joke about it because the alternative is to be scared out of your wits。 Besides； the Capitol accent is so affected； almost anything sounds funny in it。
I watch as Gale pulls out his knife and slices the bread。 He could be my brother。 Straight black hair； olive skin； we even have the same gray eyes。 But weˇre not related； at least not closely。 Most of the families who work the mines resemble one another this way。
Thatˇs why my mother and Prim； with their light hair and blue eyes； always look out of place。 They are。 My motherˇs parents were part of the small merchant class that caters to officials； Peacekeepers； and the occasional Seam customer。 They ran an apothecary shop in the nicer part of District 12。 Since almost no one can afford doctors； apothecaries are our healers。 My father got to know my mother because on his hunts he would sometimes collect medicinal herbs and sell them to her shop to be brewed into remedies。 She must have really loved him to leave her home for the Seam。 I try to remember that when all I can see is the woman who sat by； blank and unreachable； while her children turned to skin and bones。 I try to forgive her for my fatherˇs sake。 But to be honest； Iˇm not the forgiving type。
Gale spreads the bread slices with the soft goat cheese； carefully placing a basil leaf on each while I strip the bushes of their berries。 We settle back in a nook in the rocks。 From this place； we are invisible but have a clear view of the valley； which is teeming with summer life； greens to gather； roots to dig； fish iridescent in the sunlight。 The day is glorious； with a blue sky and soft breeze。 The foodˇs wonderful； with the cheese seeping into the warm bread and the berries bursting in our mouths。 Everything would be perfect if this really was a holiday； if all the day off meant was roaming the mountains with Gale； hunting for tonightˇs supper。 But instead we have to be standing in the square at two oˇclock waiting for the names to be called out。
¨We could do it； you know；〃 Gale says quietly。
¨What？〃 I ask。
¨Leave the district。 Run off。 Live in the woods。 You and I； we could make it；〃 says Gale。
I donˇt know how to respond。 The idea is so preposterous。
¨If we didnˇt have so many kids；〃 he adds quickly。
Theyˇre not our kids； of course。 But they might as well be。 Galeˇs two little brothers and a sister。 Prim。 And you may as well throw in our mothers； too； because how would they live without us？ Who would fill those mouths that are always as